


broken

by fortheloveoflestrade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveoflestrade/pseuds/fortheloveoflestrade
Summary: Same old Sherlock, broken or otherwise.





	

“I can’t believe you, Sherlock! Being so irresponsible like that, you could have been killed,” John scolds, helping his partner up the stairs to 221B. 

“I stopped him, didn’t I?” Sherlock groans, his back aching.

“You slowed him down,” John sighs. “I stopped him.”

John pushes the door open and leads Sherlock toward the sitting room. “Crack shot as always, dear,” Sherlock teases.

John sits him down in his chair, taking a moment to catch his breath before kneeling before Sherlock. “Shut up, you prat,” he mutters, smiling. “Give me that foot,” he continues, tapping Sherlock’s left knee.

Sherlock winces as he lifts his leg and John begins to remove his shoe and sock. He gives it a soft twist and Sherlock hisses in pain. “Well,” John says, setting it down gently, “it’s not broken. Just a bad sprain. You’ll be fine in a few weeks, as long as you let it heal properly.”

“A few weeks?” Sherlock sneers, already bored with his injury. “But what if there’s a case?”

“I’ll call Greg, tell him only things you can solve from home.”

“What if there’s a serial killer, John? I can’t just ignore a serial killer!” 

“You will help out as much as you can, but don’t plan on leaving this flat much for the next three weeks—unless you want to hurt yourself even worse, and be stuck here even longer,” John says, rising from the floor and disappearing down the hall. He returns a few moments later with the first aid kit from below the bathroom sink.

“Alright,” John says, “let’s get that coat off of you, I need to see if you’ve been hurt elsewhere.”

Sherlock heaves a sigh, but complies as best he can. John assists, until most of Sherlock’s clothes are piled next to his chair and John’s carefully going over his exposed skin, looking for scratches or bruises that need attention. 

“Other than the ankle and a couple bruises around your ribs,” he says, moving his hand around the purple areas on Sherlock’s torso, to which Sherlock replies with an almost indistinguishable wince, “you’ll be fine. A few weeks rest will do nicely for those,” he says, looking Sherlock in the eye.

Sherlock responds with rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine, John, I always am.”

“Until the day that you aren’t, and God help me when that day comes.” John sighs and stands, picking up the pieces of his med kit to put away.

There’s a long moment of silence while John cleans up. As he turns around, he sees Sherlock’s brow furrowed in thought. He sighs, and heads back down the hall to replace the kit. 

Sherlock moves indiscriminately when he returns. “John, could you—”

John throws his silk dressing gown onto his lap.

“Ah, yes, thank you. And a cup of tea.”

John rolls his eyes. Same old Sherlock, broken or otherwise.


End file.
